Liz Fielding - The Ordinary Princess

Yesterday he had seemed as distant as the stars. This evening she was totally at ease with him. Far from being the cold, arrogant prince that his photos suggested, he was intelligent, stimulating, amusing.

“You’re not making a bad job of that,” she said.

“For a man?”

“For a prince. I don’t imagine you’ve done it before.”

“No, but it is simply a question of applying logic and order to the task.”

She exploded into a fit of giggles as he closed the dishwasher door, looked at the settings, chose one that seemed appropriate and then switched it on.

“I’m afraid the champagne has gone to your head,” he said.

“No, honestly.” It was the fact that he hadn’t put any detergent in the machine that was so funny.

Welcome to

The lives and loves of the royal, rich and famous!

We’re inviting you to the most thrilling and exclusive weddings of the year!

Meet women who have always wanted the perfect wedding…but never dreamed that they might be walking up the aisle with a millionaire, an aristocrat, or even a prince!

But whether they were born into it, are faking it or are just plain lucky—these women are about to be whisked off around the world to the playground of princes and playboys!

Are their dreams about to come true? If so, they might just find that they are truly fit for a prince….

Look out for more HIGH SOCIETY BRIDES, coming soon in Harlequin Romance ®.

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

‘FIRED? What do you mean, you’ve been fired?’

‘Sacked, dismissed, given the heave-ho. Released to explore alternative employment opportunities.’

Again.

‘I know what the word means, Laura. I was querying the reason.’

‘The usual reason, Jay. I have this total inability to concentrate on the task assigned. I’m too easily distracted. In short, my former employer decided that I was more of a liability than an asset.’ And with that Laura Varndell picked up her glass of wine and raised it in an ironical toast. ‘Here’s to the end of my career which today ran into reality and sank without a trace.’ And she emptied the glass.

It seemed an appropriate moment to fling it dramatically into the fireplace to underline the end of all her dreams, but since her great-aunt’s flat lacked this useful amenity, and flinging it at a radiator didn’t quite have the same appeal, she held it out for a refill instead.

Her great-aunt Jenny—known universally as Jay—obliged and, understanding the need for food at such moments, pushed a comfortingly large dish of pistachio nuts in her direction.

It said much for Laura’s state of mind that she wasn’t tempted.

‘All right, let’s have it. What did you do this time?’

Jay said this with the unspoken suggestion that, having gone out on a limb, used her contacts—more than once—to get her young niece’s stumbling feet on the path to her chosen career, she was not particularly amused that she’d messed up.

‘Nothing,’ Laura said. That, of course, was why she’d been directed to the exit by her boss. ‘Well, when I say nothing that’s not strictly true. I did do something.’

‘Just not what you were told to do, hmm?’

‘Just what anyone with an ounce of humanity would have done in my place,’ she replied, stung by the unspoken criticism.

‘I see.’ This said with a convince-me sigh. ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning.’ Jay refilled her own glass as if anticipating the need for fortification.

‘I was despatched to cover a demonstration by a senior citizens’ action group. The news editor—’

‘Trevor McCarthy? I knew him when he couldn’t spell the word “editor”,’ Jay said.

Laura had a momentary and deeply pleasing mental image of her fierce news editor as a junior reporter being chewed out by her great-aunt the way he’d chewed her out today. Before directing her to the exit. Then, ‘Yes, well, Trevor said that even I couldn’t get into trouble with a bunch of OAPs.’

‘In other words he’s still stupid. You attract trouble like a magnet. One day it’ll get you the kind of story that will go around the world.’

‘Not if I haven’t got a job.’ Then, ‘To be fair to the man—’ although why she should since he’d sacked her, she didn’t know ‘—it should have been simple enough.’

‘It’s simple enough,’ he’d said. ‘Even a child could do it.’ Implying that was about her level of competence.

‘My brief was to get some quotable quotes, take a few pictures of the oldies in revolt—his words, not mine,’ she said quickly, as her own favourite ‘oldie’ gave her a sharp glance.

‘But?’

‘I wasn’t looking for trouble,’ she said, anxious to make that point at the outset. ‘I was talking to this really sweet couple, asking them why they were out on a demo when they could have been at home with their feet up in front of the telly, a cup of tea and a toasted bun within easy reach—’

‘Being patronising must be catching. Did they hit you with their placard?’ Jay enquired dryly.

‘No! We were getting along really well, talking about the stupid preconceptions people have about the old. You’re the one who’s always banging on about the fact that you don’t hand over your ability to reason in return for your pension book.’ She grinned. ‘When you’re not back-packing through a snake-infested jungle or canoeing down some gorge or other.’

‘But?’ her aunt persisted, refusing to be side-tracked.

‘But then the old chap sort of keeled over. Collapsed at my feet. I couldn’t just ignore that, could I?’

Her aunt’s expression suggested that she was withholding judgement pending explanations. ‘What caused the collapse?’

‘Well, his wife was convinced—I was convinced—that it was a heart-attack.’

‘But it wasn’t.’

‘The doctor—and it was hours before he saw a doctor—suggested that it might have been over-excitement. But we didn’t know that and I couldn’t leave them in the middle of the street, could I?’

Her aunt’s face clouded. As a photojournalist she’d covered many war zones and undoubtedly been faced with such dilemmas on a regular basis. But she’d been a professional. Had never forgotten why she was there. She’d always got her story.